


Not Alone

by audrey_cooper



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, High School Reunion, Murder, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:17:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1917753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audrey_cooper/pseuds/audrey_cooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scully warns Mulder that someone is going to kill him...but is her prescience correct about the target?</p><p>Spoilers: Dialogue references up to and including fourth season episodes. </p><p>Originally posted November, 1996.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> I just discovered that this didn't transfer over properly from Gossamer, so if you've tried to read this in the past, please give it another shot! I'm sure it didn't make much sense. The whole story is here now. ac 12/4/15

=====  
Dana Scully's Apartment  
Annapolis, MD  
Sunday  
September 28, 2003  
4:30 p.m.  
=====

Damn, damn, damn.

She hated these things. These _feelings_.

She paced the rooms of her small apartment restlessly ending up near the phone too often for comfort.

She'd been fighting it all day. She retreated behind a wall of scientific explanation, built carefully brick by brick. If he didn't stop pulling out the bricks, soon she'd be left standing amidst the rubble of her beliefs. It didn't seem so much at first. A chink in North Carolina with Luther Boggs, a crack in St. Paul with Mr. Bruckman. At the mine in West Virginia, a whole section had collapsed, disorienting her completely, as if she'd suddenly discovered that gravity doesn't suck, it spits.

It was insidious. More and more, she relied on her intuition, even as she rebelled against doing so. His leaps _(flights)_ of logic used to make her stand open-mouthed in amazement. Lately, however, she'd been doing quite a bit of flying herself.

He was right so often. Too often. Scientific breakthroughs _were_ made by asking impertinent questions.

_(Get a grip, Dana!)_

Her hand hovered over the phone. Resolutely, she snatched it back. She was _not_  going to call on the basis of some feeling, for God's sake. She punched the first five numbers before she caught herself again.

_(Fuck it.)_

She hit the last two numbers viciously.

"Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me."

Silence.

"Scully? You there?"

_(Oh, great, Dana. What **are** you going to say?)_

"Scully? You okay?"

She tucked a curl behind her ear. "Mulder..."

"Scully, what's wrong?"

She took a deep breath. "Do you know a man named John Hughes?"

"Yeah. We went to school together." His tone was questioning.

"Have you talked to him lately?"

"No...why? Scully, what's this about?"

 _(Oh, nothing. I just have this feeling that he's going to kill you, Mulder. That's all. Yeah, right.)_ "Uhh...nothing. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

* * * * *

 _(What the hell?)_ Mulder dropped the receiver back into its cradle, a puzzled expression on his normally stoic features.

The phone rang again. "Scully, what--"

"Could I speak to Fox Mulder?"

"This is Mulder."

"Fox! How the hell are you? This is Jack Hughes."

_(Jack Hughes.)_

"Fox? You there, old man?"

"Jack. It's been a long time."

=====  
6:00 p.m.  
=====

Mulder tapped lightly on Scully's door. He could hear the radio playing.  _(Wait. No, not the radio.)_

Scully was singing.

"...black and white  
living color tends to dull our sight  
Like dynamite"

At first he was so bemused by the idea of her singing that he wasn't listening to the words. But, eventually, meaning seeped in.

"Just imagine my surprise  
when I looked into your eyes  
And saw  
through your disguise

If we dare expose our hearts  
just reveal the purest parts  
That's when strange sensations  
start to grow"

Her voice was husky, growly. Mulder was shaken. That phone call, coupled with the words she was singing set off a weird reverberation.

"We are not alone  
you'll find out when your cover's blown  
There'll be somebody there  
to break your fall

We are not alone  
cause when it cuts down to the bone  
We're really not so different  
after all"

Mulder shook his head. Was he ever going to really know his partner? ( _Mulder, you just keep on unfolding like a flower.)_ Well, so did she.

He knocked again.

* * * * *

 _(We went to school together.)_ Scully had decided to work off her excess energy by cleaning her apartment. She was _not_  going to think about Mulder. While she cleaned, she sang songs from movie soundtracks a cappella. Her voice, clear and true, rang through the apartment.

"...inspection of the dust  
we came upon this thing called trust  
It helps  
us to adjust

Just imagine my surprise  
when I looked into your eyes  
I knew right then I'd  
never let you go...

Not alone  
after all  
Not alone..."

* * * * *

When Scully didn't answer, Mulder used his key. He swung the door open and stuck his head through. "Hey, Scully? You decent?"

Scully's song cut off mid-word. She gave a small shriek as she dropped her sponge and spun to see him, half in, half out of her door. "Damn it, Mulder! Don't _do_  that to me!"

"You know," he started conversationally, "I had no idea you had such a _lovely_  singing voice, Scully." He came in and closed the door softly, automatically turning the dead bolt.

Her singing was a closely kept secret. She sung lead alto for years in the church choir. "Who? Me? No, you must be mistaken."

"That song. I've never heard it before. The words..."

 _(Oh God...what was I singing?)_ "What are you doing here, Mulder?" Scully interrupted.

"Jack Hughes."

_(Where's the fucking ambulance! Don't you die on me, Mulder! Do you hear me? Don't--)_

Her normally pale complexion went waxen, and she groped for the chair behind her.

"Scully, are you all right?" He was beside her, his long legs eating up the distance between the door and chair, guiding her into the seat. He squatted next to the chair and kept a firm grip on her arm as she swayed.

She blinked away tears. "Did you say 'Jack Hughes'? As in John Hughes?" She felt nauseated, and passed a trembling hand over her eyes, then surreptitiously wiped away the sweat that had collected from her upper lip.

"Yes, Jack Hughes," Mulder answered. She heard him only dimly. A distant roaring filled her ears and sparkles of light chased at the sides of her vision. The room seemed to waver, then tilt.

_(Her hands were covered with blood. The **heat** of it was intense, and the pressure it forced against them was strong. It spurted through her fingers, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. The smell of it, coppery and rich, filled the air like a mist.)_

"Put your head down." He pushed her head forward, between her knees, and she gulped down bile. He kept his hand on the back of her neck, strong and cool.

"Oh, God, Mulder, I don't feel well." Her voice was a thin thread of sound, barely registering in her own ears.

"Scully, I want you to lie down." Mulder tugged her gently to her feet and led her to the couch. "Stay there," he said as he took the pillow from behind her head and put it under her feet, "and I'll be right back with some water."

"Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere," Scully said faintly to his back. She raised her hands to eye level. They were still shaking.There was no blood on them. She dropped them back down to her sides with a low groan and closed her eyes.

"Scully, can you sit up?" Mulder was kneeling next to the couch, a glass of water in hand. She pushed up, but found the muscles in her arms were trembling too much to hold her. He slid one arm around her shoulders, insinuated himself into the space behind her back, and pulled her toward him. "Lean back."

He brought the water to her lips. Nothing had ever tasted so good. She grasped the glass with both hands and tipped it, drinking greedily. "Not so fast!" Reluctantly, she let go. "Better?"

Scully nodded.

"Want to tell me what's going on?"

"Mulder..." Scully started, then stopped. Her mouth opened and closed several times, but no words followed his name. She didn't know how to explain the flashes that had come to her. This was much worse than when her father had died. She was glad he was behind her and couldn't see her face. She didn't want to move even if he _did_ have his arms around her.

Mulder put the glass down, then gave her shoulders a squeeze. "Scully, I'm lost here." His dry tone was just as reassuring as the contact.

She tried again. "You said you were here because of Jack Hughes." So far, so good. No bloody images, no panic attack.

"That's right. He called me right after you did." Mulder's soft words vibrated in her ear as he brushed her hair away from the side of her face.

Scully shivered. "What did he want?"

"Actually, he didn't say. Just to shoot the breeze. Bragging about his kid and--he's an old friend." He paused, as if wondering whether to pursue the question. "Did you eat today?"

Apparently not. He was giving her an out. Thank God! "No," she lied, once again glad she wasn't facing him. It was hard enough to lie to Mulder without having to look him in the eye while doing it. He would see through it, see through _her_. He always did.

=====  
Circle Lake, MI  
One Year Earlier  
Friday  
November 22, 2002  
4:25 p.m.  
=====

Nora Gallee lived in a small, but handsome house with white shutters and a screened porch in the woods, not far from the shore. Unfortunately, it was also not far from the dump. When Lester did his weekly burnings, the whole woods stank. But six days ofloveliness a week were worth the one day of inconvenience.

Besides, Nora liked to scavenge. She picked up broken-down pieces of furniture at the dump, brought them home in her Honda hatchback, and stripped them down to their original wood. Buried underneath layers of paint, she once found a beautiful little cherrywood table that now stood in her hallway, shining with lemon oil.

She parked the Honda in the dirt driveway and fumbled with her keys at the front door. She had to hurry to get ready in time. Daniel would be at her house by six.

She trailed shoes, purse and clothes from the door to the bathroom. Grabbing a towel from the shelf above the toilet, she dropped it on the toilet seat. She swept open the shower curtain, bent and turned on the faucets. Testing the water temperature with her left hand, she adjusted the cold water tap to the left and the hot to the right.

When it was almost but not quite steaming, she turned the lever above the faucets sharply to the right. She straightened, and quickly pulled the curtain closed as the shower came on. Nora stepped in and winced as the needles of water hit her back.

=====  
5:45 p.m.  
=====

She wore a black velvet sleeveless dress, short, with a low back. Her high heels were purple snakeskin. People often got the wrong idea about Nora from her shoes. Women thought she was a tramp--one of those giggling airheads who wears tight skirts and gets beaten regularly by her men--but she was not. Men were fascinated by the shoes because they made her look sexy. Nora wore them because she was short. Five foot one in her stocking feet.

Skillfully, Nora applied makeup: mascara, which made her lashes very long; blush, which made her cheekbones very high; and red lipstick, which made her mouth very ripe.

Her long brown hair she pinned up, letting several loose curls fall over one eyebrow. Stepping back, she looked at herself in the mirror. She was ready. The doorbell rang.

=====  
9:30 p.m.  
=====

Nora stood looking into the mirror, taking the pins from her hair. She dropped them one by one into the small shell she kept on the cherrywood table.

Daniel came up behind her, placing his hands around her waist, and nuzzled the long curls she had freed at the back of her neck. He moved his hands up, until they were just below her breasts, and Nora put her hands on the table to steady herself.

Pushing aside her hair with his cheek, Daniel opened his mouth on her neck, moving slowing, deliberately, his tongue darting out to taste her nape. Nora sank back into his arms, loving his mouth on her neck and his hands brushing the undersides of her breasts.

Daniel brought one hand between them and unzipped her dress. Then, putting both hands on her shoulders, he slid the velvet down her arms until the dress pooled at her waist, stopped by the flare of her hips. Moving his hands back to her shoulders, Daniel looked up, into the mirror, so he could see Nora.

Her long lashes were closed, her mouth open slightly. Her breasts, in a lace and silk bra, rose and fell with her rapid, shallow breathing.

"I want you," he whispered. He turned Nora in his arms so she faced him and licked the corners of her lips. Unhooking her bra, he pulled the straps down and sucked in his breath when her taut nipples came into view.

Instead of pulling her bra off completely, he twined the soft material around her wrists, effectively capturing them. She knew the game, and twisted, as if trying to get away.

Daniel forced her arms over her head with his left hand, his right clenching her hair, pulling her head back. Softly, Nora moaned. Her eyes were still closed. He pressed his legs between hers and pushed her against the small table. The pins in the shell rattled briefly.

"Open your eyes," he said. "Look at me."

Nora opened her eyes and stared at his mouth, licking her lips. She could feel his erection. She knew struggling would get him hotter and harder, so she turned her head when he tried to kiss her.

Daniel took his hand from her hair and, keeping her arms pinned, brushed the dress from her hips. It made a small shushing noise when it hit the floor. Nora stepped out of the pile of crumpled velvet and leaned back, away from Daniel.

He looked at her, his eyes flicking from her face to her breasts, and finally to her hips, where they froze. Her garter belt framed soft curls. She didn't have on panties.

Nora smiled.

=====  
9:40 p.m.  
=====

Jack moved away from the window. He had seen enough to be sure.

=====  
11:25 p.m.  
=====

When Daniel had gone, it was easy to get Nora out of the house. All Jack had to do was rattle her garbage cans.

Thinking raccoons, she came out in her robe and, surprisingly, bunny slippers. The slippers gave Jack some pause. They didn't fit his image of proper prey. After about ten seconds of consideration, he decided they were camouflage. He hit her on the back of the head with the butt of his knife. Down she went.

Jack went into the house for the purple shoes. He found them in her bedroom closet, resting beside perhaps ten other pair, all with the same low-cut vamp and high heel. He knew he had not been wrong.

Picking Nora up, he took her further into the woods. He undressed and carefully set his clothes and the purple shoes out of reach. Taking his knife, he got to work, whistling under his breath.

=====  
Saturday  
November 23, 2002  
1:30 a.m.  
=====

Placing the shoes carefully in position, he looked over his handiwork and was satisfied. By two, Jack reached the lake. Circle Lake. It was perfectly round, manmade, which suited his purposes. Its surface was smooth and unbroken.

He knew that if he were to walk into the lake it would be cold, the bottom mucky beneath his feet. There would be long weeds just waiting to tangle about his legs and drag him under when he thrashed.

He walked in. It was cold. He enjoyed the muck between his bare toes, the weeds around his bare legs. He stopped when he got about four feet into the lake and smiled as the weeds touched his bare ass.

He washed the blood from his body, wishing he dare take the shoes. He thought this was the best yet.

=====  
Tuesday  
November 26, 2002  
3:30 p.m.  
=====

Nora had been gone three days. She hadn't shown up for work. Her Honda was still sitting in her driveway. Daniel was worried.

His mind kept going back to the dump. He knew Nora liked to go poking around in there, looking for antiques. She was always exclaiming about the junk that other people threw away. Maybe she had gone to the dump on Saturday morning and hurt herself somehow. Hell, he didn't know. He had looked everywhere else.

=====  
4:00 p.m.  
=====

Daniel scanned the ground uneasily, knowing that if he wasn't careful he might put his foot into something slimy, like old, rotten vegetables, or worse, dog shit.

Lester burned part of the trash every Tuesday morning. The air was heavy with the smell of burnt diapers and God only knew what else. The haze of smoke cut out the rays of sunlight trying to reach the ground and Daniel squinted, his eyes stinging. He gulped air through his mouth so he wouldn't gag.

He was just wondering if breathing through his mouth was any better when he saw the shoes. A pair of high-heeled purple shoes, the kind he called "fuck-me" pumps, next to the shell of a beat-up Nova. They were lying apart, as if the woman wearing them had been in a hurry to take them off and get down to business.

He stopped, staring at the shoes, then sprinted toward them. Nora had a pair of shoes like that.

Daniel looked into the Nova. "Oh, my God," he breathed.

A blue robe lay open on what was left of the front seat. From the middle of it, Nora's head was sticking up, balanced on the stump of her neck. Her severed hands were entwined in her long brown hair. Bunny slippers were neatly placed on the rusted floor, their glass eyes staring upward.

=====  
5:00 p.m.  
=====

The police thoroughly searched the dump, the woods and the lake. No other body parts were found.

=====  
6:00 p.m.  
=====

One thousand miles away, Jack served his family dinner.

=====  
FBI Headquarters  
Washington, DC  
Present Day  
Wednesday  
October 8, 2003  
1:30 p.m.  
=====

"You want me to _what?!?_ "

Heads turned, and Scully flushed slightly. Mulder grasped her elbow and shot her a quelling look. Opening the door to his office, he stood aside, his hand going from her elbow to her back. He gently propelled her inside, out of the eager earshot of the agents in the hall, and closed the door.

"You can't be serious..." Scully schooled her expression as she turned and looked up to see his face, closer than she expected. He was _always_  closer than she expected. "...you _are_  serious."

Her color was still high. The blush lent a deeper glow to her blue eyes, and he leaned in toward her, catching a whiff of her light scent. "Why do you always find it so difficult to believe what I say, Scully?" Mulder asked softly. Out came the wistful, puppy-dog look she was all too familiar with. Damn.

Scully took a step back. "Mulder, this goes way beyond EBEs." Her back bumped his slide projector. Mulder crossed his arms and casually propped one hip against the projector, with a blatant disregard of her personal space. She swallowed hard, but held her ground.

"It'll be fun."

 _(Like that nice trip to the forest?)_ "No way, Mulder."

"Sure would make a nice birthday present," he said hopefully. She gave him her patented Mulder-you're-nuts look. "Go with it, Scully," Mulder taunted.

"But Mulder...your high school reunion?"

"Twenty-five year reunion. Class of '78," he said succinctly.

'78? Scully's eyebrow arched as she did the arithmetic automatically. That meant he had been sixteen when he graduated. Of course. She pursed her lips thoughtfully, trying to picture Mulder at sixteen. In a polyester shirt and gold chain. In tight pants. An unwilling smile graced her face, softening her expression, making her look younger than thirty-eight.

Perversely, an impulse that made her rebel against doing the expected seized her, the same type that had driven her to place the cricket in her mouth in Florida, and she said, "OK, Mulder, you're on. But this takes care of your birthday _and_ Christmas this year."

Mulder grinned his rare grin at her, all teeth. "We can stop in and see the Gunmen on the way. I _know_  Frohike would love to see you in a disco queen incarnation."

"Why do I get the feeling that I'm going to regret this?" Her own smile faded. "Does this have anything to do with your friend?" Scully asked, her stomach clenching.

"My friend? Oh, you mean Jack Hughes. Well, he--"

_(His pressure's dropping. We're losing him!)_

Scully looked down and blinked hard. She was _not_ going to have another episode like last time. She was _not_!

"--called me again to let me know about the reunion." Mulder was watching her closely.

She realized she was unconsciously clenching and unclenching her hands, rubbing her fingers against her palms, feeling the stickiness of blood. She made herself stop.

"Scully, if the thought of attending my high school reunion bothers you that much, I can go alone," he said.

She stared at his tie. He was being diffident, and that bothered her almost as much as the visions ( _hallucinations)_. "No, I'll go," she said softly, as she looked up at him.

"Is something wrong? You've been kind of out of it lately," Mulder's question was light, but his eyes were serious.

"I'm--" she started.

"Fine," he finished, and whirled in exasperation away from her, raising his hands in defeat.

"Actually, no. I'm not fine," Scully admitted. She looked down at her hands, clenched together so tightly the knuckles shone white.

Mulder turned back and took her arms lightly in his hands. His voice dropped to that intimate tone he sometimes took with her. "What is it? Your last set of tests didn't--"

"No, no, that's not it," she answered, still looking at her hands. There was no blood on them.

"Then what is it?" He let go of her, then tipped her chin up with one finger, bringing a deja vu rush, Minneapolis and Donnie Pfaster all over again, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Scully?"

 _(That's just **great** , Dana. Now you're having visions of the past. You're losing it!) _Her scientific mind revolted at the thought. She decided to try an experiment under controlled circumstances and braced herself by placing her hands on his forearms. She didn't touch him often, but she wanted to be ready. Just in case. "What's his name again?" Mulder tilted his head quizzically. "You know, the high school reunion guy."

"Jack Hughes," Mulder enunciated carefully, never taking his gaze from hers. He watched in amazement as she lost the last of the color from her earlier blush and her pupils dilated until only a thin ring of blue remained.

 _(Mulder, damn you! Her lips on his, for the first time, and his were cold. Not like this, please, Gode! Breathing, counting, breathing...)_ Her grip on his arms tightened, her breathing became erratic, and she whispered, "No!" Her lashes fluttered, then closed as she slumped against him.

"Scully, Scully!" He pulled back slightly and shook her. Her head lolled on her neck like a flower in a breeze. He sank down, and, supporting her head, lowered her to the carpet. He glanced around the office wildly, then yanked his jacket off to pillow under her feet. Sitting back on his heels, he chafed her wrists. Her skin was cool and clammy. _(She's in shock, you idiot!)_ Getting to his feet abruptly, he lurched for his trench, his usual grace gone. _(But from what?)_ Dropping back to his knees, he spread the coat over her, tucking it in around her slight frame.

A bit of color came back to her lips. "Scully?" He reached down to check her pulse at her neck. It was strong and steady, if a bit fast.

Scully blinked and looked up to see Mulder anxiously looking down at her. "Mulder, what--"

"Are you all right? You passed out." Her eyes, though still dilated, lost their fuzzy look and came sharply into focus. "I thought you said the tests were okay," he accused.

 _(Did it again. Well, don't want to try **that** again anytime soon!) _ "They were. Mulder, I--"

"That's twice in the last two weeks you've gone faint on me. What the hell is going on?" He was practically hissing in her face.

"If you would let me get a word in, I'd tell you," she snapped back. _(Worse, I didn't think it could get worse...)_ Scully sat up. Mulder's coat dropped from her shoulders to puddle in her lap. She fingered the smooth camel's hair. "It has to do with this man," she said as she got to her feet, holding on to his trench.

"What man?" Mulder backed off a step. _(Is she dating? She's not **pregnant** , is she?) _A sudden, sharp pang of betrayal and regret twisted his lips into a short grimace.

"Jack Hughes," she answered. _(Why can **I** say it?) _ She shook her head and sat down heavily in the chair in front of his desk. "Just...don't say his name again, ok?" She met his eyes.

The breath _(Not pregnant. No other man.)_ he didn't realize he'd been holding blew out in a sigh of relief as he sat beside her. Choosing not to analyze his feelings at the moment, he inclined his head and steepled his fingers near his mouth, waiting for her to explain herself.

Scully looked down at his coat, which she had spread over her lap. "When I called you last week, I had this...feeling all day." She risked a glance at him. "A feeling he was going to kill you, Mulder. A very strong feeling."

He leaned toward her and, dropping his hands, opened his mouth. She held up one hand. "Wait, I'm not finished." Immediately he subsided. "I didn't want to admit that I had called you on a _feeling!_ And when you said his name, I had a...well, a..." she trailed off. He could tell that she wasn't going to be able to finish without feeling foolish.

"A vision?" Mulder asked. He carefully kept his voice neutral.

"For lack of a better word, yes. I tried to tell myself it was a hallucination, but..."

"Scully, what did you see?" He was tired of her dilly-dallying around the point.  _(Why can't you trust me with this, Scully?)_

She opened her mouth and he could tell she was deciding how much to tell him. Her tongue crept up to touch her top lip in a familiar nervous habit that he was certain she didn't know she had. "I didn't see anything at first. I heard myself calling for an ambulance and shouting at you, telling you that you'd better not..."

"Die?" he finished. She nodded. He took a deep breath, and when she showed no signs of continuing voluntarily, asked, "And then what?"

"I saw my hands covered in blood. It was spurting through my fingers, it was _hot_  and I could _smell_  it, Mulder. Oh, God, the _smell_  of it!"

He blanched, then leaned forward and grasped her hands, which she had been twisting together in her lap. They were trembling. "Scully..."

"I was so sure it was real. It was freaky, Mulder. I kept looking at my hands checking for blood. I feel like Lady Macbeth, for crying out loud! And today, when you said his name that first time, I got another flash...vision...whatever you want to call it. I heard someone say, 'His pressure's dropping. We're losing him.'"

"Did you see anything this time?"

Scully took a deep breath and gave his hands a squeeze before letting go and burying her own in his trench once more. She looked down and to the side. "I was giving you mouth to mouth, and you weren't responding. Your lips were...cold."

He shivered. _(Now, that's not a happy thought. But mouth to mouth? I should be so lucky.)_ Mulder decided he had better keep his thoughts to himself. She didn't really look up to his wisecracks.

"I was so angry at you..." Scully raised her eyes to his again. "Sometimes you really piss me off, Mulder."

He smirked at her and some of the tension around her eyes faded. "Why didn't you want me to say his name?"

"I can say it, I don't know why. But when _you_  say it...wham!" Her hand arced up and she tapped against her forehead with her palm.

"What do you want to do about this, Scully?"

"Do?" For a moment she looked confused.

"Well, Rich Simons from VCS gave me something that I figured we could check out on the way. Then we could stop by the reunion. Put the whole trip on the Bureau's tab. But...our 'friend' has already asked us to dinner the next night because he won't be at the reunion. I don't want you to feel...uneasy, or uncomfortable in any way." It was his turn to forestall her with an upraised open palm. "With this...thing that's going on, it could be a problem..."

"No," she said, "no problem. I can handle this, Mulder. _I'm_  fine. As long as you don't say his name again, that is. I'm more concerned about _you_. Not that I really think anything's going to happen...." Again, she flushed slightly, he noted with interest. "What's the case? Is it an X File?"

Mulder leaned over his desk, grabbed a file folder and handed it to her. "No, not exactly."

She opened it and started scanning the contents. "Hmmm, serial murder."

He got up and paced, his hands on his hips. "Yeah."

"I should have known that backhanded invitation to your high school reunion was hiding one of these." She shook the folder at him.

=====  
Interstate 95  
Thursday  
October 9, 2003  
4:30 p.m.  
=====

The trees were dressed in the fall colors--caramel gold, apple red, pumpkin orange--they would wear only briefly before shedding them for the bareness of winter. Scully sat staring at them from the passenger seat of the rental, thinking about those damn hallucinations _(visions)_. She didn't want to say anything to Mulder, but the closer they got to Martha's Vineyard, the more apprehensive she felt. Whoever this Jack Hughes was, he was definitely a problem.

She shook her head and looked down at the file on her lap. It detailed a series of six murders: One per year in either November or December. Each in a different state, ranging all over the eastern seaboard and upper midwest. Maryland, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Ohio, Rhode Island and Michigan.

Each victim had been a young woman, late twenties to early thirties, who lived alone. In each case, the only remains found were the victim's head and hands, severed with what appeared to be a knife or bayonet, displayed in a ritual manner. Shoes identified as belonging to the victim were also found at each scene. In two of the cases,other clothing identified as belonging to the victim was also found. No other trace evidence was discovered, and with the lack of remains to study, the cause of death was indeterminate; most likely blood loss.

"Mulder, the killer left the two most easily identifiable body parts." Scully stated abruptly.

"Head and hands. Dental records and fingerprints," he answered immediately.

"Why would he do that?"

"I don't know." Although he had first taken the case from Simons to cover their trip to the Vineyard, he found himself being drawn in by the particulars. "Simons says the VCS investigation on this is at a standstill--has been ever since the case was opened. No one ever even connected the murders until the last one in Michigan. Apparently the detective there had a personal stake in solving the case, and pushed to get the guy profiled by the FBI. They found the five other murders fitting the pattern."

"What's the detective's stake?" Scully asked.

Mulder glanced over at her, then back at the road. "The last victim, Nora Gallee, was his girlfriend. He found the...uh...body."

Scully winced in sympathy.

=====  
Corvail, RI  
October 9, 2003  
5:30 p.m.  
=====

Corvail was small. So small that if you blinked, you'd be through it. Scully stifled a sigh of distaste and followed Mulder into the station, which was a tiny squat structure. The lobby was composed of a room with three doors. One of the doors was glassed and stood open. The others were ominously closed.

Mulder spoke with the young officer seated behind the only desk, who turned his head and announced, "Some people to see you, Tom."

"Tom Berett, chief of police," said the slim, short man in his late forties who came through the open doorway offering his hand to first, then Scully.

"Special Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, FBI," Mulder said, holding his badge out for the man to see. "We'd like to talk to you about Jeanine Baker." Berett nodded, poured them coffee in chipped mugs, which they both accepted, then led them into his claustrophobic office.

Berett sat behind his desk with a sigh. "Don't see how I can help you folks much. That case hasn't done a damn thing but sit on our books and clog up the paperwork. Before Jeanine we hadn't had a murder here in twenty years."

"Jeanine? Did you know her?" Scully asked. She sat in the room's only other chair and sipped her coffee. It was surprisingly good. Mulder leaned against a file cabinet.

"Sure did. She was a good-time girl. I dated her once or twice myself. Real pretty little thing. Damn shame, if you ask me." Helooked down, shaking his head.

"Were you dating her at the time of the murder?" Mulder asked, drawing a frown from Berett and a quick turn of the head from Scully.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I was. I was the one who found her, you know. What was left of her, anyway." Berett's look of remembered horror was enough to give Scully chills. "It's all in the report there," he said, motioning to the folder Scully held in her lap.

"We've read the report, Chief Berett, and know that you questioned only one man in this case. Can you tell us why?" Scully asked. Mulder placed his hands on his hips, watching Berett intensely.

"Well, this isn't a real big town, like you can see. We checked out old man Grange--Jim Grange--more on general principles than anything concrete. Heavy drinker, known to get hotheaded. But his alibi checked out, so we figured it was just a drifter." Berett shifted in his chair, which squeaked loudly. "Since we haven't had any problems since, I figure he was just here for a few days then moved on."

"We'd like to talk to Jim Grange if we could," Mulder said.

"I'd like to be able to oblige you, Agent Mulder, but Jim Grange passed on early this summer. His heart gave out. Guess the booze and the smoking finally caught up to him." Berett didn't look unpleased at this turn of events.

Mulder exchanged glances with Scully, frustration evident in his eyes. "And there were no other possible suspects?" he asked, turning back to Berett.

"Nope, not a one that couldn't be accounted for, either by family or other witnesses. Like I said, it's a small town."

Scully stood and placed her coffee cup on the edge of the desk. "Thank you for your time, Chief Berett. Can you recommend a good motel?"

Mulder saw the speculation in the chief's eyes as they flicked from Scully to him. "There's a motel down to Scarling way. Sorry you had to waste a trip."

* * * * *

"So, Mulder, give. Why were you eyeing the chief like that?" Scully asked as they settled back into their rental.

"There's another similarity in these cases, Scully. All the victims were dating law enforcement officers." His hazel eyes, always intense, were shining with the glint that only following a strangelead could give them.

"Yeah, so?"

"Each victim was also _found_ by her lover," he stated flatly, then nodded his head when Scully shook hers. "Yes, they were. Check the file."

Scully didn't even bother opening it. "But, Mulder, that's a simple coinciden-"

"That's a little _too_  coincidental for me, Scully."

"Are you suggesting that six separate police officers--respected, upright men--each killed his lover in a different state, and that each of those men then conveniently _found_  the body?" Her incredulity was obvious.

"No, I don't see that as a plausible explanation. I think this is the work of one, possibly two people."

"Well, then what? How could the killer know _who_  was going to find the bodies?" Her question was put with that exasperating scientific detachment that he sometimes found infuriating.

Mulder shook his head, then started the car. "I don't know."

=====  
Barton House Banquet Hall  
Martha's Vineyard  
West Tisbury, MA  
Friday  
October 10, 2003  
7:30 p.m.  
=====

"Foxy Mulder! Never expected to see _you_  here," the man said, grabbing Mulder's hand and pumping it vigorously.

"No, neither did I," Mulder answered half under his breath. He retrieved his hand.

"So, who is this lovely woman, and what's she doing with _you?_ "

"This is my...friend, Dana Scully," Mulder said, drawing her up beside him, keeping his arm slung loosely around her shoulders, clearly marking territory.

Scully glanced up at him in shock. (Oh, so now its your "friend Dana"?) Mulder met her eyes and grinned widely. She smiled politely, automatically in the man's direction.  _(Mulder, I'm gonna get you for this...)_

"Dana, this is Lance Nemans," he continued without missing a beat, silently asking her to play along.

"Nice to meet you," she said. She started to offer her hand, but Mulder pressed her closer against his side, trapping her arm against his body.

"The pleasure is all mine," Nemans oozed, finally raising his eyes from her legs to stare at her cleavage.

 _(Why did I wear this dress? Because you wanted to look nice for Mulder, that's why.)_ The dress was long sleeved burgundy brocade. It had a low square neckline and fit her breasts and waist closely before flaring out into a short, flirty skirt that stopped at mid-thigh. Her cross gleamed mellowly at her throat.

She leaned into Mulder slightly, and he took the small adjustment in weight easily, familiarly. Her smile grew strained as Nemans continued eyeing her in a predatory manner. "Let's dance," Scully said, tilting her head back into Mulder's chest and staring up at him through her lashes.

Mulder looked down at her and turned her toward the dance floor. "Later," he said over his shoulder to Nemans.

"Thanks," Scully said. She grinned impishly as, just when they reached the dance floor, the music segued into Stevie Wonder's 'My Eyes'. "Oh, no, you don't," she giggled as Mulder started to tug her away with a 'don't make me do this' look. "Let's hustle. I _know_ you know how."

He smiled evilly at her, then positioned her beside him and slid into a smooth, sexy version of the Electric Slide. Her mouth gaped open. She closed her mouth with a snap and started to dance.

It was Mulder's turn to stare as Scully bent down into the rock step of the dance. He got a fantastic view of her skirt edging higher and higher on her slim thighs. When she spun to the right it flared even higher before settling about her.  _(Holy God!)_

She picked up his rhythm and he adjusted his step slightly to fall in sync with her.

* * * * *

Jack watched the woman dance from the door. He could practically see her ass when she bent over, and her tits looked about ready to escape the confines of her dress. His gaze traveled down her legs to rest on the three inch heels of her burgundy suede pumps.

He glanced at her partner fleetingly, then jerked his head back. _(Is that Fox Mulder she's with? Oh, yeah, she's the one.)_ He ducked back out the door, letting it close silently behind him.

* * * * *

Stevie Wonder blended into Tone Loc's 'Wild Thing'. Scully let go and danced her feelings, needing some kind of release. She had been wound up all day, waiting for the other shoe to drop, expecting trouble around every corner. Nothing had happened. They had spent the day wandering the Vineyard, exchanging theories on the serial killer, getting nowhere. She closed her eyes. Mulder looked too damn good tonight.  _(Don't go there.)_

Mulder's eyes widened, and he faltered for a second. He had been inching closer to Scully as she danced in place, but was distracted by her small capable hands, nails sensibly short, skimming her hips, her breasts, up under her hair. She reached up over her head as her lower body undulated to the pulsing beat.  _(Back off, or she'll know **exactly** what you're thinking!)_

"...want to do the wild thing..."

He made his way around her, keeping time with the music. He purposefully looked at the dancers crowding the floor, willing his body to obey his mind.  _This is **Scully!** )_

"...wild thing..."

The smell that was uniquely Scully, a sweet, light scent of lily of the valley, rose from her heated skin. Mulder raised his eyes heavenward, away from the tantalizing auburn wisps at the back of her neck.  _(Uh, God? If you're taking requests today, get me off this dance floor before I do something stupid, ok?)_

But God and the DJ refused to accommodate him. The DJ, who he vaguely recognized as Billy MacGuire from his graduating class, announced, "Let's slow it down a little with a song I'm sure you all remember. Here's Exile with 'Kiss You All Over' from the fall of '78."

Scully turned toward him and stepped closer. For the first time, he understood what it was like to have his personal space invaded. _(Is **this** what I do to her?) _ She placed her arms up around his neck and pulled his head down. For a brief, blinding second, he thought she was going to kiss him. Then she stretched up on her toes and whispered huskily in his ear, "If you want people to believe we're lovers, Mulder, you'd better close your mouth and put your arms around me."

He reached up and clasped her left hand in his right and curled it up on his chest, snaking his other arm behind her to rest his hand between her shoulder blades. She came even closer and placed her head next to their entwined fingers on his chest. Settling his chin on the top of her head, he again glanced around at the other dancers, trying to distance himself from the reality of Scully in his arms, her breasts flattened against his ribs, her thigh slipping between his....

Scully closed her eyes with an unconscious sigh. She didn't know why he began this charade, but had to admit that she was enjoying herself. It had been a long time since she'd danced close and slow with a man, especially a man as attractive as Mulder. The wool gabardine beneath her cheek was infused with the familiar combination of expensive cologne and male muskiness she identified exclusively with him.  _(If I was blind I'd still know him by his scent.)_

Mulder might pretend indifference, but she knew for certain he didn't carry his gun in front. Her nipples hardened in response.  _(Our bodies know the truth.)_

Mulder looked down at Scully and saw she was smiling, her eyes closed. Just an upturning of the lips; a small, secret smile. She had to be able to feel him, the way they were plastered together. _(It doesn't look like she minds. If we were alone...)_ His hand slid up from her shoulders to stroke her nape lightly. She shivered.

"Fox? Fox Mulder?" Scully jerked her head away from Mulder's chest.She had been on the verge of making a colossal mistake: believing in their make-believe. Believing that it was real.

Mulder stared at the woman who had just ruined one of the more intriguing fantasies he'd ever had.  _(Talk about your past catching up with you!)_

"I didn't know you were going to be here. I thought you said you were never coming back," the woman squealed in a nasal whine. Scully looked at the blond, who could have given Dolly Parton a run for her money.

The woman's partner rolled his eyes and said, "Chrissy, if you want to talk to Foxy, I'll take..." He looked at Scully, one eyebrow raised as he reached out and grasped her lightly by the elbow.

"Dana," Scully interjected.

"...Dana here to get a drink and we'll meet you at our table. I'm Joe, by the way," he said to Scully. "And that's my wife Christine."

"Oh, hello there," Christine said, clutching Mulder's arm.

"You're married?" Mulder asked her, looking briefly at Scully then back at Christine.

"Hi," Scully said brightly, determined not to let this bother her.

"They used to date, you know," Joe said as he led her through the crush of bodies on the floor toward a table in the corner of the room.

"I got that impression," Scully answered, sitting in the chair Joe courteously pulled out for her. Apparently chivalry was not yet dead on Martha's Vineyard.

"What would you like to drink?"

"Some water would be great." He nodded and went over to the bar. She absently toyed with the cross around her neck, looking out at the dancers. She caught herself staring wistfully at Mulder's back, and shook her head in annoyance.  _(Chrissy and Foxy, how **cute!** )_

"Would you like to dance?" The man was tall, blond, and very tan,despite the October date.

"Well, I..." She shot another look at the blond dancing with Mulder, then stood up and said, "Sure, why not?"

"I'm Randy Young," the man said as he pulled her into his arms. "What's your name, honey?"

Already regretting her decision, she considered stomping on his instep. "Dana Scully. In case you didn't notice, I'm here with--"

"Yeah, Foxy. I saw that," he said dismissively. "But now that you've met me..." He raised his eyebrows suggestively. _(Oh, God! Why me?)_ Scully tried unsuccessfully to put some space between them.

"Aren't you tired?"

"Actually..."

"'Cause you've been running through my mind ever since I set eyes on you," Randy interrupted.

She groaned. Although he was handsome, he had none of Mulder's brooding intensity or quirky good looks. And his attitude was Mulder on steroids! "Back off, Randy. And I'd move that hand if I were you. Unless you want to lose it."

"Oooh, I like it when you get angry! Lighten up, honey, I'm just trying to be neighborly. Don't worry about Foxy. Me and Foxy go way back." To her relief he did back off, not far, but enough to make her a little more comfortable.

Scully seized this opportunity to ask, "How so?"

* * * * *

Christine was still just as airheaded as ever. All boobs, no brain. _(Lights on, nobody home.)_ Of course, they had been what attracted him in the first place. Her nasal voice went on and on about Joe, about her three children, gossiping shamelessly about their fellow graduates. Mulder nodded every so often, letting her words flow over him, not really paying attention. Finally, she stopped with the question, "Why did you come, Fox?"

"I couldn't pass up the oppor--" Mulder lost his train of thought. Scully was dancing with Randy Young. "I'm sorry, Chris, I've kept you from Joe too long," he said, abruptly guiding her off the dance floor to the table where Joe was waiting patiently, ignoring her. "I'm going to get a drink."

He shook his head depreciatingly as he headed toward the bar. _(Why did it have to me **him?)**_ Randy had been the star forward of the 1978 basketball team--slick and handsome. While Mulder was no slouch and played a mean game, Randy eclipsed him like a dark star, both in basketball and with girls. Girls practically fell into Randy's lap.

Mulder admitted they made an attractive couple. Randy's shoulder length blond hair and clean-cut, all-American looks complimented Scully's classic auburn beauty. His head bent down to her attentively, and she laughed at something he said.

His hands clenched into fists and he turned away to face the bar. That was no help: he could see their reflections in the mirror. Although the music had sped up, they were still dancing slow and close.  _( **Too**  close.)_

Without realizing it, he was away from the bar and at Randy's shoulder, tapping politely. Randy turned with a grunt, not releasing his hold on Scully, and Mulder caught the look on her face. _(I think I'm about to save Randy some teeth.)_ He heaved a short sigh of relief and said, "Sorry to break this up, Randy. Kitten, I'd like to introduce you to some people."

 _(Kitten!!)_ Scully smothered her laughter with an ease born of long practice and answered, "Ok, baby, let's go." She pried herself out of Randy's arms and went to Mulder, who let loose with his devastating full grin and pulled her up close beside him.

"Thanks again," she said, smiling up at him as they left Randy standing in the middle of the dance floor. "I was afraid I'd have to take drastic action and shoot him the next time he pinched my ass. That guy just won't take 'no' for an answer." She paused for a beat then said, "He reminds me of you."

When was the last time he had seen her smile so openly, easily? _(I can't remember.)_ A twinkle of devilment came into his hazel eyes. "Scully, are you armed?" He guided her off the dance floor toward the bar with a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you kidding? Mulder, where would I put my Sig in _this_  dress?" Actually, she _was_  armed. There was a compact holster with her off duty gun hidden under the bow on the back of her dress. She had the alterations done when she first bought the outfit. Mulder's paranoia was catching; she didn't like to go anywhere unarmed. But she decided to let Mulder sweat. It was only fair, especially after he deserted her for that Dolly Parton clone.

He eyed her up and down. His perusal, unlike Nemans' or Randy's, sent a flush of warmth tingling from her face to her stomach, where it coalesced into butterflies of awareness.

"Oh, I don't know...maybe up on your thigh?" His words were pitched low. He knew damned well she didn't have it there. He replayed the flash of smooth, silken hose he had seen and rested his gaze on her parted lips.

 _(Partner, he's your partner!)_ "Mulder, I think you've been watching too much James Bond."

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"Yeah, sure, I'd love one."  _(I think I'm gonna need it!)_

=====  
Barton House Banquet Hall  
Martha's Vineyard  
West Tisbury, MA  
Saturday  
October 11, 2003  
12:30 a.m.  
=====

Scully excused herself, and, in the women's restroom, surveyed the damage of four hours of almost steady dancing and drinking. She knew she was drinking too much, but seemed to be dancing it off almost as fast as she drank. Mulder wasn't helping. He kept bringing shots from the bar, and her pride wouldn't let her back down.

Her hair was still pretty much under control. Although it had fallen in wispy tendrils from the neat french twist, she had to admit the effect was attractive. She dabbed at her face with a piece of tissue, wishing she had given in and brought a purse for once. There, that was better. At least it was fall, and her freckles weren't too bad. The beauty mark above her lip, normally hidden under a light dusting of powder, was showing but there was nothing she could do. Thankfully, the lighting was kind.

She started to walk out, then stopped and looked in the mirror again. There was something... ( _I look happy.)_ The faint lines in her forehead and around her mouth that she was accustomed to seeing had disappeared. Her eyes were sparkling and there was a faint blush of color to her face that was appealing. Mulder looked happy, too. He had laughed out loud more in this one evening than in all the years they had been together. _(Eleven years. That's longer than most marriages.)_ She sat down abruptly in one of the little plush chairs.

* * * * *

Mulder was waiting in the deserted lobby. A series of sentimental seventies tunes, audible from the banquet hall even through the closed doors, played havoc with his mind. When Scully came back it would be over. The rush of sadness and regret was so sudden, so sharp, that he leaned his head forward and covered his face with his hands. He didn't move even when she placed her hands on his shoulders and squeezed gently.

"Mulder? You ok?" Her voice, close to his ear, was a little shaky.

He shook his head, dropped his hands and looked over his shoulder at her. For a second, he saw his thoughts _(might have, could have, **should** have) _ mirrored before she dropped her eyes, then the moment was gone. "Not used to drinking so much. I must be getting old."

Scully squeezed his shoulders once more, then let go. "One more dance?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and her face flamed as she looked away.

He got up and extended a hand to her, which she took gravely. "For you, always." He drew her close to him, and she laid her head on his chest again. They swayed to the music filtering through the closed doors from the hall into the empty lobby.

"...You're so close now  
I can't let you go  
And I can't let go..."

Scully pulled away far enough to look up at him. "Mulder, I--"

He shifted their clasped hands to her mouth, and rested his finger briefly on her lips. She closed her eyes in silent agreement and leaned into him again.

"With you I'm not shy  
to show the way I feel  
With you I'm not shy  
my secrets to reveal  
For you are a magnet  
and I am steel..."

Mulder's mouth twisted with bitter irony.

"I can't hope that  
I'll hold you for long  
You're a woman  
who's lost in your song  
But the love that  
I feel is so strong  
and it can't be wrong..."

Scully couldn't help it, she had to see, to _know_. She looked up, her heart in her throat, and saw his shining in his eyes. _(Oh, God...)_  She made a short, incoherent sound in the back of her throat.

One kiss. One. Just one. Eleven years of wanting and waiting crashed down over them and Scully reached up, her hands on his face, tracing his jaw lightly. Mulder put his hands in her hair, pins scattering on the floor where they glittered, unseen, in the soft light.

They hesitated, then slowly, with their eyes wide open... their lips touched, opened... _(gentle, so gentle)_  ...her moan broke free into his mouth...(soft, so soft) ...he swallowed it... they drew a hair's breadth apart, eyes still wide open. They were both breathing hard and fast, unwilling to look away and break contact.

"Hey, Foxy! Get a room!" Randy was standing in the doorway to the banquet hall, and he followed this gem with ribald laughter.

=====  
Jack Hughes' Home  
Martha's Vineyard  
Ocean Heights, MA  
October 11, 2003  
6:25 p.m.  
=====

"Are you okay with this, Scully?" Mulder asked as he guided her up the stone porch stairs with a hand under her elbow. The house was an immense structure of river rock with a long wraparound porch.

"I'm fine, Mulder," she answered.

And she was fine. They had slept in very late. Well, at least she had, not waking until Mulder had waved a cup of coffee beneath her nose. The wonderful aroma got her eyes open, and the first thing she saw was his smile as he said, "Good afternoon, Kitten." That had the pillow tossed at him, and never mind the coffee.

"Just remember, any problem..."

"I'll call you Foxy." She grinned at his sudden discomfiture. He rang the bell.

A slim brunette in her early forties opened the door wide. "Fox! I'm so glad you could come! Come on in."

"Hi, Marielle. This is Dana Scully. Dana, Marielle Hughes."

"Hi, Dana. Please come in and let me take your coats," said Marielle, motioning them from the foyer into a large, well-proportioned living area. The room was immaculate, with deep-set wine leather furniture and wood tables. Abstract prints on the dark green walls. A dining room, the table set with snowy linen, sparkling crystal, and china was visible through an archway.

"Thanks for inviting us for dinner," Scully said as she took off her coat and handed it to her.

"No problem at all. I sent Jack for some candles, he should be here in about fifteen minutes," she answered, hanging their coats in a closet. "Now, what can I get you? You still drinking those Purple Jesuses, Fox?"

Scully arched an eyebrow at Mulder and he studiously looked away, roaming the room, examining everything, missing nothing. "Nothing right now, Mari."

"Dana, how about you?"

She shook her head and Marielle excused herself to check on the roast. Scully perched on the edge of the love seat and tried to catch Mulder's eye. "Purple Jesuses?" she asked. He just shook his head and continued his slow pace of the room. He stopped in front of the large fireplace, which was adorned with a ten-point buck.

Marielle's disembodied voice came from up the hall. "Fox, could you light the fire for me? The matches are there, by the fireplace."

"Sure," he called back, and crouched down, finding the long matches in their brass box. He pulled the screen open and lit the kindling already laid on the grate, then fed in a couple of bigger branches from the stack next to the poker set. The snap and crackle of the burning wood underscored the silence of the house.

Mulder got up from the fireplace and dusted his hands together after pulling the screen. He sat on the love seat beside Scully, one arm stretched along the back behind her head, and watched the steadily growing flames.

"Mulder, is that you?" Scully asked, pointing to a framed photograph of two wet young men in swimming trunks, arms slung companionably about each other's shoulders, standing beside a pool that stood on the dark wood table.

He examined the photo with a wry expression. "Fox Mulder, in the bloom of his youth," he proclaimed. He leaned over and looked at it more closely. "I guess you know who the other guy is. That was after a successful swim meet--a big win for us."

Scully studied the photo for a minute more, admiring the lean lines of Mulder's body, then staring hard at the other person in the picture. A tall man, almost Mulder's height, gruffly handsome.Looking away, she suppressed a shiver as she looked at the deer over the fireplace. "Interesting decor, don't you think?" Something about its eyes...

"Jack was always a big hunter. We'll probably be eating venison tonight."

"Ummm, I love venison."

"That's good, Dana, cause that's what we're having," Marielle said as she came back into the room.

The door opened and a heavyset bald man came in, shedding his coat and dropping it unconcernedly on the bench in the foyer. "Fox! You made it!" Mulder stood up as Jack threw his arm around Mulder's shoulders, giving him a buddy hug.

"Jack. It's good to see you." Mulder slapped him lightly on the arm in return, then sat beside Scully again.

"At least you kept your hair, old man," Jack said, going over to drop a paper bag in Marielle's lap. "Here's your candles, Mari. Fox,can you believe she made me go hunting for candles? Six o'clock in the damned evening, dinner waiting..."

"Women," said Mulder, shaking his head in commiseration.

Marielle swatted Jack lightly on the back of his bald head. "Men," she said to Scully, who smiled with complete agreement. She took the candles into the dining room.

"So, is this your woman?" Jack asked Mulder, looking pointedly at Scully from his perch on the arm of the chair Marielle had been sitting in. "'Bout time you settled down, Fox."

"Dana," Mulder said, "this is Jack Hughes." He kept his hand on her forearm, watchful. "Jack, Dana Scully."

Nothing. Not a damn thing. _(Working with Mulder must be wearing on my mental capabilities.)_ She glanced at Mulder _(I'm fine)_ and said to Jack, "You have a lovely home."

* * * * *

Mulder steered the conversation toward Jack's work in the forest service while listening bemusedly with half an ear to Marielle talking recipes with Scully.

"This is delicious," Scully said enthusiastically, taking another bite.

"I'm glad you like it, Dana," Jack smiled. "I only wish I would've gotten it myself."

Scully frowned slightly at this, but was deflected by Mulder asking, "Marielle, why weren't you and Jack at the reunion?" wondering as he did why it hadn't occurred to them to ask before.

Marielle directed her answer at Scully, who was staring at Mulder oddly. "John ... away ... weekend ... back ... college." Her voice was fading in and out like the reception on a bad radio station. "... venison recipe."

 _(glass eyes staring)_ "Foxy--" Mulder looked up, alarmed, his eyes going wide and intense. "I'm sorry. I...forgot my medication at the motel," Scully said, pushing back her chair abruptly and swallowing repeatedly. Nausea rolled over her in waves, and she looked at her with sudden revulsion.

"Dana." He was beside her, getting her out into the hall and into her coat, speaking to Jack and Marielle who were murmuring their concern from a great distance.

"...could lie down..."

"...she gonna be ok, Fox..."

"...hasn't been feeling well...just needs her medicine..."

* * * * *

Mulder got Scully onto the back seat of the rental gingerly and tucked his coat over her. She was small enough that she could lie full length with no problem. He turned and said to Jack, who had been holding the door, "Thanks."

"No problem, Fox. Go on, take care of your lady. That's a good one, old man, don't let her go." He clasped Mulder's arm briefly.

"I won't," Mulder said somewhat grimly as he settled into the driver's seat, starting the rental.

He drove only far enough leave the residential area, then pulled over and threw the transmission into park. Getting into the back seat with Scully, he enfolded her in his arms, rocking her, caressing her face lightly, waiting for her to come out of it. Her face was deathly pale and her hands ice cold, but he was reassured by her strong, steady pulse.

"Scully. Scully," he said in measured tones. "Dana, wake up."

"Mulder?" She blinked, then propelled herself off him and halfway out the opposite door, where she hung, retching violently, repeatedly. His strong grip kept her from tumbling into the ditch. When he was sure she was done, he pulled her back into the rental, the door and silently handed her his handkerchief.

"Mulder, you must be the only man I know who still carries one of these." Scully wiped at her face and wished for water to take the bitter taste of bile from her mouth.  _(Good thing he got me to a place where I could puke in private.)_

"Something you ate?" Mulder's attempt at humor was feeble, but he didn't expect the response he got. Scully spun and threw the door open again, dry-heaving helplessly. "Oh, God, S-Scully, I'm sorry."

She heard the slight catch in his voice. That only happened when she flustered him _(Oh--oh, yeah, i-i-it's great. I'-I'm surprised I put up with you for so long.)_ or he was very concerned _(Scully, w-watch your step. This place is rigged.)_ Not wanting to scare him any more than she already had, she dragged herself back into the rental and collapsed bonelessly against the seat. "Can we go back to the Inn? I need some water and to lie down for a little while."

"What happened, Scully?" He was almost whispering.

In the same tones, she answered, "Mulder, I don't know. I was fine..."  _(Something about that deer...)_

"Was it like before? Did you see anything?"

His questions whipped at her already flayed nerves. "Yes--no..., I--damn it, Mulder, stop pushing me!" _(glass eyes staring)_  "I don't _know_ ," she repeated vehemently, shaking her head and closing her eyes.

"Here," Mulder said, pressing something into her hand and opening his door. He got into the driver's seat and started the rental. Scully opened her eyes and stared at the stick of gum in her hand, then peeled it from its foil wrapper and stuck it in her mouth gratefully. Mint.

=====  
The Vineyard Inn  
Martha's Vineyard  
West Tisbury, MA  
October 11, 2003  
8:35 p.m.  
=====

They pulled up at the Inn, a one-story hodgepodge of disconnected groupings of rooms set in a rustic Pullman arrangement. Scully climbed out of the rental and went straight to her room, which stood at the end of a five-room unit. Mulder followed at a slower pace. By time he reached his own door beside hers, she was inside her room with her door shut.

She could hear Mulder unlock the door to his room, enter, and close it quietly behind him. Their rooms shared a bathroom; it stood between them like a sentinel...or a chaperone. Scully was long used to having her makeup case next to his shaving kit. The doors to the bath from her room and his both stood wide open. The sound of the delightfully antiquated rotary dial and his words to Jack Hughes came to her in clearly in snatches.

"Jack...she's okay...no...soon..."

She went into the bathroom and shut the door to Mulder's room firmly. Stripping her clothes violently, she got into the hottest shower she could stand. _(What did you see?)_ She took the toothbrush and paste with her into the shower and brushed her teeth viciously under the steaming water.  _(I don't **know!** )_

When she got out of the shower, she was totally enervated. _(that deer--something about its eyes)_ She wrapped the towel around her head with effort and got into her terry robe, still wet. _(...going to kill you, Mulder)_ She was too tired to get her pajamas from the dresser drawer. _(glass eyes)_ She staggered to the bed and tossed the towel from her hair to the floor.

=====  
The Vineyard Inn  
Martha's Vineyard  
West Tisbury, MA  
Saturday  
October 11, 2003  
11:21 p.m.  
=====

"Mulder?" Scully bolted upright from a sleep so deep she was stiff and sore. _(Probably didn't even move.)_ The room was pitch dark save for the glowing numerals of the digital clock next to the bed. It was silent. _Too_  quiet. _(Why can't I hear his TV?)_ She reached over and clicked on the light.

Her door to the bathroom was open, and Mulder's was closed almost all the way. The usual reassuring strip of light that should have been shining along the crack wasn't there. She got out of bed and went to the door, pushing it open slowly, in case the unexpected had happened and he was actually asleep.  _(Yeah, right. When does he **ever** go to sleep this early?)_

"Mulder?" she called softly, even though she knew the room was empty before she got the door all the way open. A spasm of fear shook her and she shuddered.  _(Where are you?)_

* * * * *

Jack watched her through a small chink where the shade didn't quite meet the sill. She paced the two rooms restlessly. He could only see her when she was in her own room at the apogee of the elliptical shape she was pacing. Every time she turned her legs split the robe almost to her hips and he saw the shadowy triangle between her legs. She folded into a chair directly in his line of sight, her robe gaping open and playing peek-a-boo with her dusky nipples.  _(Slut. Doesn't even have on **underwear!** How  **dare** he bring her into my house.)_

* * * * *

His cell phone and his gun were on the nightstand. His running shoes were gone. _(Ok, so he's gone for a run. That's **all**.) _ Scully made herself stop pacing and sat down, thinking hard, trying to recreate the _something_  that had made her so ill.  _(Glass eyes--Mulder!)_

She shifted in the chair, trying to relax. _(He's going to kill you. Blood.)_ She glanced at the Sig that was lying on her nightstand next to her room key. She took deep breaths and pushed back the feeling of danger, of fear for Mulder.  _(Blood spurting through her fingers. Blood on her hands.)_

Running footsteps sounded outside her door, and she leapt to her feet, snatching her Sig from its holster. A long, loping, steady pace. Mulder. _(Thank God!)_ She hurried across the room and pulled open the door.

* * * * *

Jack had planned to double back and rattle the door next to hers, but found it wasn't necessary. Although he wasn't expecting the woman to open the door as he jogged past the first time, he was proud of the fact that he was able to hit her with the butt of knife as soon as her red head showed. It connected at her temple and he caught her as she pitched sideways and laid her down easy. Something fell to the ground. He eyed the Sig thoughtfully, then slid the Buck knife into his jacket pocket. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans for his gloves. He put them on, picked up the gun and stuck it into the waistband of his jeans, then hoisted the woman over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. He pulled the door closed, shifted the woman and headed off into the darkness behind the Inn.

He didn't take her far, just around the corner from her room. A small patch of trees between the Inn and the residential housing behind it would have to do. He had had to alter several things for this woman: The area was much more populated than he liked, not nearly isolated enough; the season was wrong; and the gun...but he could adjust. This one was worth it. He had the feeling she would be the best ever. He put her down in a patch of early fallen leaves, set the gun aside and pulled the terry robe off her limp form. Jack folded it neatly and laid it atop the gun, then went back to the Inn stealthily for the shoes.

* * * * *

Mulder had slowed to a fast walk by the time he started through the stand of trees behind the Inn. He checked his watch. Almost midnight. Maybe Scully would be awake and they could get to the bottom of this ongoing weirdness. His eye caught a splash of white on the ground.  _(Damn litterbugs!)_

* * * * *

Jack went into the woman's room and found the burgundy shoes on the floor in the small closet. A taupe pair, cut the same, were next to them. He picked up the burgundy shoes and went across to the bathroom, where he paused for a second, then closed the door and locked it. He turned off the light and thumbed the flimsy lock on the main door, pulling it closed behind him. He checked the knob. Locked.

He passed silently within eight feet of Fox Mulder, who seemed preoccupied and didn't notice him. Jack grinned in anticipation, and made his way back to the woman, the shoes in his hands.

* * * * *

Mulder got back to the Inn and was disappointed to see that the lights were out in Scully's room. _(Not awake yet?)_ He went into his room and dropped the key on the nightstand next to his gun on his way to the bathroom, flicking on lights as he went. Her door was closed. He frowned slightly and tried the knob. Locked. _(What the hell?)_ He knocked, then called, "Scully?" Nothing, not even the slightest shifting of her sheets. A worm of disquiet twisted his stomach. The frown deepened and he knocked again, more loudly. "Scully? It's me." Still nothing.

 _(Oh, well, they can bill me.)_ He shouldered the door open and looked into her room. _(Not here.)_ He glanced around the room, taking in the twisted bedclothes, the open closet, the empty holster on her nightstand. He checked the door. The thumb latch was turned, but the chain was off. He looked around again, the frown settling in on his forehead. _(Her key's still on her nightstand. Where would she go without her key?)_ His eyes widened. _(Why would she take her gun?)_ His mind clicked along _(gun)_ putting together pieces _(key)_  each one falling in place _(closet)_ with the pounding of his heart. He tore out of the room.

* * * * *

Jack had most of his clothes off and folded neatly beside the woman's robe and shoes when he heard someone crashing through the sparse leaves behind the Inn. He flicked the Buck knife open with his thumb and heard the 'snick' as it locked into place. He bent down over the woman and drew the flat of the blade along her cheek on his way down to her throat. She groaned thickly and her lashes fluttered.

Mulder slid to a stop nearly on top of the thin dark-haired man who was bent over Scully's nude body. _(Let her not be dead. Please, God...)_ He brought his gun up with both hands and tightened his finger on the trigger.  _(Fucking **bastard**. Not even gonna give you fair warning.)_

Jack spun and struck Mulder a slashing blow with the knife. Mulder's gun went flying and landed about ten feet away. The knife bit deep, slicing neatly through Mulder's watchband and sweatshirt, cutting the side of his forearm to the bone. Blood sprayed in a hot arc, hitting Scully in the face.

Scully groped for the gun in the leaves _(Fucking thing! Where **is** it?) _ and found her own Sig half-hidden under the terry cloth pile of her robe. She clutched it with both hands and got to her feet groggily.

Mulder cried out as he fell backwards, making a muffled thump as he landed hard on the ground. Lights came on in several of the Inn's windows.

Jack dealt Mulder a sharp blow to the face with his left hand as he raised the knife high in his right. Scully rammed the Sig right up against the middle of his back then pulled the trigger twice. The knife dropped to the leaf-strewn ground. Blood spurted from his in a great gout and flew from the exit wounds on his chest, splattering Mulder as he fell forward. Scully clawed at him, yanking and pulling until she was able to roll him off Mulder. "Mulder, Mulder!"

"What's going on out there? I've called the police!" A gruff man's voice jolted Scully.

"We need help!" she cried and she began going over Mulder as well as she could in the poor light. Her vision kept doubling, then trebling. "Call for an ambulance! Federal agent! I have an officer down!"

"S-Scully? Are you all right? He didn't--" She found and dismissed the facial bruising.

"No, he didn't." That was all he was waiting to hear. He gave in to the whirling in his head.

"Mulder, where are you hurt?" He didn't answer. There was blood everywhere from the other man and she couldn't tell what she was missing on Mulder. _(So **much**  blood!) _Scully found the wound on his arm and looked around wildly for something to staunch the flow. The was bad--it went vertically along the outside of Mulder's forearm from his wrist to his elbow. Sirens wailed in the distance.

Her hands were covered with blood. The _heat_ of it was intense, and the pressure it forced against them was strong. It spurted through her fingers, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. The smell of it, coppery and rich, filled the air like a mist.

Scully stretched for her robe, ripping the belt loose and tying it as tightly as she could just above Mulder's elbow. Holding his arm upright, she wrapped the bottom of the robe around his forearm and pulled it into her chest. She pressed down hard over the wound with both hands, putting all the pressure she could on his arm while still holding it up. She could hear sirens, growing louder.

"Where's the fucking ambulance! Don't you die on me, Mulder! Do you hear me? Don't--"

Mulder regained a soupy semi-consciousness. "Is this where...you give me...mouth to mouth?" he got out huskily. He tried to leer at her, to take away the fear on her face, but winced as the motion pulled at the bruised side of his mouth. His upper arm was tingling, and he couldn't feel his hand.

"Oh, God, Mulder!" _(His lips on mine.)_ Her eyes filled with tears and her mouth with his taste.

The sirens came to a crescendo beside the Inn, then died with a whoop. The sound of running feet filled the night air. Flashlights bobbed up and down like a premonition of Halloween apples.

"Here!" Scully yelled. "Over here!"

The paramedics arrived, and were astonished to find a small nude woman covered with blood spitting out medical terminology. Scully identified herself and gave them a concise account of the injuries she had been able to find on Mulder, and the two of them efficiently took over from her.

A police officer gently draped a blanket around her nakedness and started asking her questions. "No, I don't _have_  my fucking ID!" Scully screamed at him. She put her hands over her face, and sat down hard on the ground, trembling with the combined aftereffects of adrenaline rush and shock.

"Now, calm down, ma'am."

"His pressure's dropping. We're losing him!" one of the paramedics said.

Scully picked herself up and went over to where they were working feverishly over Mulder. "Don't you die on me, Mulder! Do you hear me?" she chanted, over and over.

=====  
Providence Hospital  
Providence, RI  
Sunday  
October 12, 2003  
5:00 a.m.  
=====

Scully sat beside Mulder's bed, patiently waiting for him to open his eyes. The blade had actually etched a thin line along his ulna,a permanent internal souvenir, narrowly missing the tendons and slightly nicking an artery. _( **Way** too close.) _ He had received a transfusion and it had taken over a hundred stitches to close the gash on his arm. The doctor who had done the work informed Scully that an eighth of an inch to either side would have lost Mulder the use of that arm. _(He was extremely lucky, Agent Scully.)_ Her mouth twisted at that. Mulder was anything _but_  lucky.

* * * * *

Mulder stirred and groaned as he shifted his left arm. He opened his eyes slowly to see Scully smiling at him from the familiar surroundings of a hospital room.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

He took mental stock of himself _(left arm aches like a rotted tooth, right one pincushioned with an IV, face feels like an overinflated balloon)_ while trying to come up with a good snappy quip, but he couldn't think of anything. "Alive," he answered, the corners of his lips turning up slightly.

Scully's smile widened for a second then faded. They sat comfortably together, replaying a scene that had become second nature.

"Are you all right?" Mulder asked, looking at her more closely. There was a good sized bruise at her right temple, and her features looked drawn and pale.

She nodded and said, "Just a bad headache, Mulder, thanks to you."

They fell silent again, each contemplating what had happened.

"Scully, that man who attacked us wasn't Jack Hughes," Mulder said into the quiet that filled the room.

"Yes, he was, Mulder--" she contradicted him.

" _What?_ " His upper body came up off the bed and she pushed him back gently.

"--he just wasn't the Jack Hughes we expected."

He tilted his head on the pillow. "How do you mean?"

"His full name was John Harold Hughes, Junior." Scully paused, then went on, "People called him Jack, just like his dad. Only his parents called him John."

Mulder closed his eyes for a long moment. "Jack and Mari's _son?_ "

"Yes." The word was laced with sympathy, anger and a trace of something else that he couldn't quite place. "When you asked Marielle why she and Jack weren't at the reunion, she mentioned him. I wasn't catching everything she said, but something about his being in town--"

"She said that he had come in from college for the weekend, and that he had brought the venison we were having for dinner." He paused, then said, "That's why you had another...episode, isn't it?"

She nodded and shrugged at the same time. That answered the question he had wanted the answer to when he came back to the Inn after his run. "So you were right," he said softly.

"Yeah, I guess I was." Scully looked down, then back up at him. "We can't prove it, but I believe he killed those six women, Mulder. He had gone back for my _shoes_."

 _(Oh , God.)_ "He was a great kid, from what Jack told me. He'd call me up from time to time and brag about him. Poor Mari." He shook his head sadly. "Why would he do that?"

"I don't know." She looked at him forthrightly, then said, "You know, Mulder, sometimes you really piss me off."

He sat through the expected lecture meekly, without comment; letting her rail at him for almost getting himself killed, _again_  for God's sake, thanking God that she was alive to do it.

=====  
Fox Mulder's Apartment  
Arlington, VA  
Monday  
October 13, 2003  
5:07 p.m.  
=====

Mulder was happily ensconced on his leather couch, his left arm propped on his stomach, his right behind his head, watching the tape of Sunday's game. The Redskins were kicking the crap out of the Cowboys. Behind him, Scully used his computer to finish typing up their case file for Rich Simons in VCS.

The sound of the keyboard clicking ceased. Scully turned and looked at the fish tank silently for a few minutes, then blurted out the grim suspicion that had surfaced the day before _(glass eyes staring... something about that deer... venison recipe...)_ and that had kept circling in her mind until she read the reports again and confirmed it. "Mulder, I don't think that was venison we were eating."

"Of course it--" He shifted on the couch to look at her over his shoulder. "What do you mean _not venison?_ " He reached out with his good arm and pulled her around to face him fully.

"I think it was Nora Gallee, his last victim." Scully said, making a small moue of disgust.

"Scully, you're not serious, are you?"

She nodded solemnly, explaining, "At their house, that deer just...anyway, I kept thinking about that deer and its glass eyes. Then, when I was going over the reports again, I realized why that image kept resonating. Nora Gallee's bunny slippers."

His Adam's apple bobbed convulsively. He searched for the elusive quirky comeback that would break the tension, while telling his stomach firmly that no, it just wasn't so.

"No wonder you yakked up all over the road," was Mulder's dry comment.

Scully stared at him, then got up and sat down on the coffee table in front of him and said conversationally, "Mulder, remind me never to go out on a date with you again. It seems to be bad for our health."

A look of suppressed panic came and went from his features. "But, Scully, it was the best birthday present I've ever had." His simple sincerity was obvious, and she almost gave in and told him she was teasing. _Almost._

"Happy birthday, Mulder," Scully said, kissing him on the cheek. She drew back slightly, then decided that now would be a good time to use that tidbit of intelligence gleaned from Randy Young on the dance floor. Leaning in close again, she breathed lightly into his ear, felt a quiver run through him, and whispered, "So, Foxy, tell me about the time you lost your speedos in the pool..."

____

End

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: Big, big thanks to DP who beta read and stuck with me while I struggled to finish this tale--I wouldn't have made it without you! Special thanks to B, who gave me some *truly* interesting ideas, and to F and D, who encouraged me to post in the first place...
> 
> Thank God this baby is finally birthed!! Congratulations, DP, you're a godmother!
> 
> Disclaimer: Ok, guys and gals, you know the drill... Mulder and Scully aren't mine, they belong to Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, and 1013 Productions, and have been used without permission. Lyrics from "We Are Not Alone" from the Breakfast Club soundtrack, "Wild Thing" by Tone Loc, and "Magnet and Steel" by Walter Egan are also used without permission. Despite this odd combination of songs, the story is still worth reading. No copyright infringement is intended. All other characters and situations are my own invention--bless my twisted little mind!
> 
> I would appreciate feedback in any shape or form. 
> 
> M: "That's a pretty extreme hunch."  
> S: "I seem to recall you having some pretty extreme hunches."  
> M: "I never have."  
> The X-Files, Aubrey


End file.
